


Granddaughters AU PWP

by purplekitte



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Multi, PWP, Psychic Abilities, Threesome - F/M/M, implied Dorn/Sigismund and Curze/Sevatar, in the background - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2019-09-14 11:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16912146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplekitte/pseuds/purplekitte
Summary: Andronika knew better than to intrude in Sevatar’s head, really she did.





	Granddaughters AU PWP

**Author's Note:**

> Another spin-off of a friend's AU. For context, Andronika is Rogal Dorn and Konrad Curze's daughter in a non-Heresy AU, created by the Emperor of Mankind because he likes meddling. Re-reading this, Andronika comes across as younger than intended--she's supposed to be in her late teens at least, just immature for lack of responsibility.

Andronika knew better than to intrude in Sevatar’s head, really she did. He welcomed her there freely with the same selfless devotion he always lavished on her when she was having one of her fits and needed someone, anyone, but there was no question she was hurting him. 

His mind was fragile and brittle and her steps were like walking over a sea of wineglasses in her armoured boots even when she was being careful. Her visualisations of mental landscapes were clear and easy, but not necessarily comforting. She slipped and fell a lot on the slick surfaces, or had to catch herself on sharp corners and left them fragmenting or stained red. She had to be careful or she’d crack the entirely edifice. 

There were many things he didn’t want her to see, and she wished he wouldn’t try, but knew it was more reflex than anything. Minds tried to defend themselves naturally and responded to the subconscious more than reason. She didn’t want him to know she could see everything reflected in the hundreds of shards she left in her wake. She didn’t like seeing him hurt himself trying either, like a servitor picking up a broken glass with its bare hands and driving shards deeper into itself with each thoughtless movement. She could feel his pain reflect back to her, like the glass was mirror. 

She had to get away. She shouldn’t be here. She could already see dark wings on the horizon. She could hear the creaking. They had to get out of here. 

Andronika was vaguely aware of the physical world as another refuge opened up for her to run to. Sigismund had gently put his hands on both sides of her face to give her a path to him, but her body was still unwilling to relax its grip around Sevatar’s neck and shoulders. 

The fortress of Sigismund’s mind was familiar and solid. Good Imperial Fists architecture. She could feel a slight difference in the taste of the air, though, and groaned to herself as her eyes fell on a broken interior window. She had tugged too hard and dragged Sevatar with her. 

Andronika levelled her chin. She had to be strong and she had to deal with her own messes. She wasn’t exactly competent, not like Thea or something, but she practiced as hard as she could and had for years. 

She didn’t go to her own room in Sigismund’s mind-fortress. It was easy, familiar, her own mind wanted to hide there where it was dark and quiet and had memories of all her dolls, and she could hide and be safe and cared for until her fit was over. She wasn’t a child anymore, she told herself. 

She was also maybe a little unwilling to try to summon Sevatar to her room rather than go find him. It was her private place, a bit embarrassing and made for keeping everything and everyone else out, for all that it was in another’s mind. It was Sigismund’s love for her and her alone. 

Sigismund’s mind was stone, strong and dark. It was laced with ironwork and occasional frescoes to past battles or stained glass. There were thoughts and memories he might consciously want to keep from her, but nothing he hid from himself or refused to face in his own mind. The corridors of stone were as straight-forward and open as he was. 

Andronika ran her hands along walls and over doors to be sure where she was and make the world around her more concrete. There were little earthquakes, but the foundation was solid around her. She didn’t usually go exploring on purpose because it was rude and not this direction in particular, but she knew how Sigismund’s mind worked and where to find them. His subconscious would want to throw Sevatar out but would be unwilling to lash out with her there too, so they would be tolerating each other the only way they knew how. 

She could feel backlash from each door she passed, but that was okay. The chattering at the back of her mind was normal. Sigismund didn’t like her to go near his memories of battle, but she didn’t mind. She liked him as her noble protector, but she privately also liked how he felt when he thought about war. The purity of his anger and his surety. It was how he was meant to be. 

Besides, if there hadn’t been so much wrong with her, she’d fight wars too like most of her cousins. They were considered old enough. She could hardly be around men and women who _weren’t_ scared and screaming and dying. People told her sometimes that not being able to stand that made her a good person, but mostly she felt weak and envied how little of that Sigismund noticed. There was only purpose and the joy of the fight. 

The memories in this wing were warmer to the touch and made her palms tingle pleasantly. She paused briefly before a door that smelled faintly of oranges, but had no intention of opening it. She really didn’t want to know more about things her papa and Sigismund had done over the centuries (she knew), but she liked the feeling of how comforting and treasured the memories were for Sigismund. 

Her goal was a door of black iron and bars hung with chain. Andronika opened it. She crossed her arms and frowned disapprovingly and sighed loudly, which always worked for Papa, but she didn’t think she could pull off quite so well. 

The looks on Sigismund and Sevatar’s faces made her want to giggle enough to war with her urge to apologise for the mess in the first place. Her eidetic memory automatically catalogued details to identify the memory as a time they’d ‘accidentally’ gotten stuck in a lift together when she and Seraphi were trying to set them up. Her eyes may also have lingered on the blood dripping down Sevatar’s bare shoulders and the bruises blooming across Sigismund’s chest. 

The things they wanted to do to each other were always tied to the heat of violence as closely as lust, but they were normal, familiar background noise and not particularly upsetting compared to a lot of what she heard. It was simple and honest in its own way, never liking each other but tolerating for her sake. They also enjoyed what they did on some deep, animal level, the fighting and the flirting and the lack of a line between the two. Andronika felt a bit guilty when she turned over memories she had picked up from them at night when she put her blankets over her head and her hands under her nightgown. 

‘I told you something was wrong.’ 

‘It’s my memories. Of course it was going to feel right to me.’ Sigismund looked back to Andronika. ‘Are you ready to wake up? I’ll throw him out when you are.’ 

She shook her head. ‘I’ll do it.’ She might mess everything up as usual, but Sigismund would definitely hurt Sevatar’s fragile psyche pushing him back into his own head. She just had to do it right. 

‘Can I?’ she asked, removing the glove she imagined she was wearing and her hand hovering a few centimetres from Sevatar’s shoulder. 

‘Of course,’ he said immediately. She didn’t like to look to see how much of that was trust and how much willingness to die for her. 

He hissed as she accidentally touched the injury he believed he had, but she was too much trying to keep her breathing even and her mind empty as she took his mind in her immaterial hands. It wasn’t as hard as it could have been. Sevatar’s mind was unusually self-contained. He had trouble feeling like he had connections to other people, though he had perfectly well-developed opinions of them. It was like holding a fishbowl in her hands--clearly delineated but with hidden depths, strong but easy to break. 

She reached through the physical connection of his arms around her. He’d tried to stop her from hurting herself when her fit began. He’d tried to avoid skin-to-skin contact, but she was too strong for him to hold properly and her forehead was still on face and her white hair across his cheek. She might be one of the weakest of her cousins, but she was the direct product of her grandfather’s greatest work. 

As carefully as she could, Andronika imagined setting Sevatar’s consciousness down gently inside his mind and slowly withdrawing her hands. She could be steady. She wasn’t going to hurt those she loved if she could avoid it. 

Two more deep breaths. Then she called back up her mental walls layer by layer like working her way through a blueprint. 

Sigismund was waking as well and he quickly removed his hands from her face as soon as she indicated it was alright to break the connection. Sevatar did not stir and Sigismund hit him to snap him out of it. 

Sevatar didn’t respond, but Andronika couldn’t sense anything exactly wrong with him. Turmoil and imperfect anchoring, but nothing noticeable cracked. 

‘Wait,’ she told Sigismund as he went to hit Sevatar again. He looked slightly disappointed but deferred to her. 

She leaned in close. She had a few centimetres on Sevatar already and hadn’t stopped growing yet. Resi was already almost as tall as her father. 

She was no expert in ritual magic like Thea, but she wasn’t stupid or anything. She knew how to wake a magical dreamer up. It appealed to not be the storybook princess being protected by knights all the time. She could be someone else’s brave prince, even if it were her fault in the first place. 

As she kissed Sevatar’s still lips, his black Nostraman eyes finally opened, and she smiled. Thrilled with her success, which she hadn’t been nearly as confident about as she’d pretended to herself, she kissed him again with more enthusiasm. She could feel slivers of his mind against her bruised psyche, but it was distant after what she’d done a few moments earlier. 

Sevatar pushed her back gently, careful to avoid her skin again. ‘Don’t do things you don’t understand like that, princess.’ 

‘I do,’ she insisted. 

People were fond of projecting their illusions about purity onto her. She loved them dearly and she hoped she wasn’t a bad person, but naïve she was not. 

Typically, her powers flared and magnified back and forth between them things she hadn’t meant to see or to say. _He lost his virginity to a girl two or three years older who lived nearby. She’d owed him for warning her when she was about to get caught during a heist, so she decided to teach him everything she knew about turning tricks--He’d tried it out the next week and it was useful for getting a mark to drop his guard so the whole gang could circle around. Jago was in the most danger of getting grabbed or stabbed in the first moments of the robbery, but he was quick and rarely got caught. Easier than dealing with someone else who wasn’t as good as he was playing the bait and getting decked and becoming a dead-weight--_ and on and on and on. 

‘I withdraw my comment,’ he conceded, pushing aside very pointedly any memories of things her dad had done with him. ‘But your fathers would kill me.’ 

‘You really shouldn’t, Princess Andronika.’ 

‘You two could make out instead,’ she suggested giddily, then wished she could take back saying it out loud. Maybe she was a little too pleased with herself at not being one hundred per cent a failure and should think more clearly, the Imperial Fist part of her chided. Maybe reaching between them through a memory of them together had not been the best plan ever. Her powers were still spiking through the channels between the three of them, reminding all them exactly what she had interrupted. 

‘I don’t see why not.’ 

‘That’s because you have no moral compass whatsoever,’ Sigismund countered. 

‘You’re just worried you won’t be able to keep it up.’ 

‘It’s not anything nice that you should involve yourself with, my lady.’ 

Andronika rolled her eyes. Who had spent years matchmaking them in the first place? And she knew perfectly well that their relationship, if it could be called that, wasn’t nice. She couldn’t explain to Sigismund that the violence of their passion was what she found so attractive, when everyone always tiptoed around her like a china doll or an armed meltabomb. 

Sevatar understood a bit, she sometimes thought. He took his vows to protect her very, very seriously, but out of all the people she knew he was the most likely to take _her_ seriously. He acted like he believed in her and that she could be strong if given the chance, which was as sure a sign of insanity as she’d ever seen. 

Lagertha or Resi could flirt and no one made a big deal of it, but Andronika could barely carry on a conversation with another human. Anyone who made an effort to talk to her treated her like a half-feral animal that needed to be soothed or it might bolt or bite at any moment. Athene always said that if she ever wanted anything she would have to learn to stand up for herself someday. 

Sigismund must have caught some of her frustration, because he looked down for a moment. Her lack of control rankled, but it was unsurprising it hadn’t died down yet. ‘It’s just sex. You don’t mind when I watch you spar and that’s more violent. I won’t let you get in trouble for it either.’ 

She was prickly with heat and she could have felt the return sensations reflected back even if she hadn’t noticed their fatigue trousers were rather strained. She was also lucky that while Sigismund had vague ideas that sex was something he was supposed to be sheltering her from, he didn’t actually have any hang-ups about it in and of itself, unlike many of her brothers. It was just something you did to take the edge off after a fight, after he’d been in the gladiator pits with Khârn or Amit or Abaddon, or he and Sevatar had been having one of their usual argument-duels or he was angry at someone else he wasn’t allowed to kill. 

‘It won’t give you another fit, will it?’ His tone told her sternly that she’d better tell the truth, and she enthusiastically shook her head, not even crossing her fingers behind her back. Her power was already coming down from its earlier wild flaring. This wasn’t going to make it worse and maybe their tension reaching its natural conclusion would even settle her into a post-coital nadir as well. 

Andronika settled herself on the floor with her back to a wall as Sevatar got fed up with the dithering and kissed Sigismund hard. Sigismund wasn’t someone prone to deep reflection and certainly not to distraction when he fought, so he reacted naturally. By the time they broke apart, they were both panting and bleeding from split lips. 

They were still holding back, she could tell, and not just from Sigismund cutting himself off every time he started to curse and cuffing Sevatar whenever he said just about anything in Gothic rather than Nostraman. He didn’t know she understood smatterings of the language these days, or could at least guess based on context. 

It still felt good. When she wasn’t concentrating hard on the feeling of her own arms around her knees or her silk dress against her skin, she slid to and fro. Sevatar tugged hard on her--his--arm and that was good too. She--he--kneed him back and pushed her--his--weight against his shoulders to limit his range of motion. She--he--slipped under Sigismund’s guard and made him have to catch himself after over-committing, and threw him further off-balance by running the back of her--his--hand across his crotch. Andronika shook her head. They never stopped being aware of her, or she might have. 

Sigismund gasped, but twisted his legs around to try to trap him again. Thoughts about what he’d do in a fight to the death flitted through Sevatar’s mind, but he didn’t bother with most of that when he wasn’t serious. He thought he could probably win if they fought one last time for real, but in their casual duels he was usually the one who backed down first. He didn’t have a pathological need to appear to win, so he usually let Sigismund pin him. Sevatar threw a punch but shifted his hips so their erections rubbed against each other. Both of them tightened their grips on each other reflexively and groaned. 

Andronika could hear her own heartsbeats loudly in her ears, but not in the same way as right before she blacked out. She shivered with phantom hands on her--not her--and the material of her dress caressed her sensitive skin with every movement. Her knees brushed against her breasts as she hugged them tighter, and she couldn’t resist moving one of her hands from the outside of her knee to between it and her body. 

Her breasts were soft even through the fabric and her nipples prickled under her thumbs, muscles clenching between her legs in anticipation. Confused again, she gasped at Sevatar’s hand down her trousers and Sigismund did as her fingers found wet flesh under her skirt. 

_He’s never been with a woman before and wouldn’t know what to do with one,_ commented Sevatar. 

_I could figure it out,_ Sigismund shot back. _I’ve had you under me often enough._

Andronika giggled at their bickering. They were having to go slowly, nerves misfiring as one of them meant to move his hand and the other’s arm spasmed instead. She wanted to apologise again, but they were still ripping each other’s clothes off however clumsily and pressing as much sweaty skin against together as possible so that every movement meant more friction. 

All three of them cried out as Sigismund forced himself inside Sevatar. The exchange of confused sensations and impressions moved too quick among them for words. Sigismund got the reflection of hurt from the penetration, and Sevatar laughed as the Imperial Fist enjoyed the burn of pain. Sigismund returned smugness at Sevatar’s pleasure also mirrored and the sound of his breath hitching and the feel of legs wrapping around his hips to take him in deeper. Both pleased and indignant at the same time at the simplicity of Andronika’s happiness that they were happy. 

They kissed, teeth and tongue and swallowed growls and moans. Sevatar’s cock leaked against Sigismund’s stomach as they moved together, his blood singing with the friction against hard muscle and the fizzle of violence. Sigismund groaned at the tight clenching heat around him, the whimpers somewhere between pain and pleasure that occasionally managed to escape Sevatar’s lips, and the confirmation in the resonance between them that he was enjoying both too. 

For a moment it was all too much and they shuddered against each other, foreheads pressed together. Ripples of pleasure as they both went over the edge reflected and magnified back and forth in a positive feedback loop. 

They panted against each other afterwards, coming down from the high but the prickly feeling lingering like a gnat at the edge of their visions. Sevatar recovered first and kissed the tip of Sigismund’s nose playfully, like he liked him. ‘Not bad, darling.’ 

Sigismund growled and headbutted him, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. He was trying to find the threat and, though he was annoying, it wasn’t Sevatar at the moment. 

The air was stifling, or so it seemed to her, but she was shivering. She had forgotten her own hands at some point and her body complained about lack of stimulation combined with second-hand sensations. ‘Sev,’ she whispered, hoping he would know what to do. Sigismund was her shield, but he was also somewhat dense sometimes. 

She didn’t quite follow the silent conversation between them, not psychic just wordless other than Sigismund’s ‘This is a terrible idea.’ 

‘She wants to,’ he replied, like everything was simple. She did. Her boys. Her knights, one shining and stalwart and the other dark and crooked. Their feelings back weren’t exactly lust so much as sheer gravitation attraction, and she almost worried she was taking advantage of their devotion rather than the other way around. 

‘Don’t you dare hurt--’ 

‘Do you think I would to her? I know what I’m doing.’ Only someone who knew him well could have detected the flash of genuine anger under Sevatar’s mocking tone. He tapped the side of his head and looked at her rather than Sigismund dismissively. ‘Are you saying no to her?’ 

‘I still serve.’ 

‘Your willingness to jump out of a Stormbird without a jump-pack if someone told you to is occasionally useful. My lady?’ 

Sevatar settled her against Sigismund, his solid chest supporting her back and his arms crossed over her stomach. He was still naked and sticky with sweat and fluids, though she couldn’t exactly feel this through the layers of clothing she was wearing to prevent any more skin-to-skin contact. Her dress was sure to be ruined. Sevatar eased his grip up so Sigismund’s forearms brushed against the undersides of her breasts. 

With her safe and secure in her knight’s arms, Sevatar went to work on his princess. Andronika gasped as he traced patterns across her breasts firmly enough for her to feel them through her dress and bra. She wasn’t sure if it was the shock of anyone other than herself touching her like this or if he was especially good at it. Her second-hand experience was different enough to something actually happening to her that she couldn’t be entirely sure. 

Sevatar stroked her soft nipples to peaks and made her squirm, then ran a nail over Sigismund’s arm to her stomach. In a stray flash she learned everywhere that Sigismund was ticklish, from which of them she wasn’t sure. 

No time to dwell on uses for that, because Sevatar had his mouth on her and his hands were running up and down her sides. She wanted to feel him directly against her skin, but knew better and he was being careful to keep the slight barrier of fabric between them. For her sake, she knew. He was concentrating entirely on her so it wasn’t too bad, not like some of the sharper parts of his mind, but her shields were never that great at the best of times. 

Andronika squeaked as he ran a hand down her thigh to the knee, rustling her skirts. ‘Stay still,’ he warned as he slowly worked her dress up over her legs without touching skin, carefully manoeuvring fabric so it stayed between her legs and Sigismund’s. He went back up the inside of her thigh so close she could feel his heat but nothing more substantial. 

She tried to stay still, but her body strained for more contact already. She gasped brokenly and only Sigismund’s grip kept her in place when Sevatar finally, finally touched between her legs. 

She moaned and throbbed inside as the damp material of her panties rubbed against her hot flesh. He explored her boldly through the thin cloth, finding out exact what she liked best. She wasn’t sure herself because everything felt too good. 

His fingertips brushed over her entrance, but didn’t breach her body even shallowly. Tease. She ached for his fingers to press inside her. For his cock to press inside her. Sigismund could steady her as she pushed back against his thrusts, or she could be stretched around both of them, losing the borders of their minds at the friction between them as they both fucked her. 

Their minds were mostly separate now, but she still drew unconscious flashes of memory from Sevatar of how good it felt when Sigismund filled him, of times he’d taken two men in him at once. His emotions were always a mess, but not what he felt for her and she could steady herself on that. Her shields shook with the waves of pleasure washing over her from the massage where she was so wet and sensitive, but Sigismund’s mind at her back supported her. 

Andronika cried out as she came undone, sending shockwaves through the ship. Good dreams for once in the psychic component, she hoped. Sevatar kept up the firm pressure on her clit until she had come down from the last of the spasms going through her. 

She kissed him lightly on the lips to say, _See, I’m fine now. I can even handle a little physical contact without bleed-over_ , then turned to kiss Sigismund too. ‘Thank you. That was fun.’ 

She had to fix her skirts and adjust her gloves carefully, that was very important. Even if she didn’t want to and was feeling centred at the moment, it was still her. The Astartes collected their clothes as well and she politely pretended she couldn’t hear them whispering to each other. 

‘I didn’t know you could be... you know, nice.’ 

‘Do you ever get tired of being wrong?’ 

‘This is not going to be the best kept secret in the fleet with feedback like that.’ 

‘I have a plan. It’s called lying.’ 

‘We,’ she decided, ‘should do that more often.’ Please? 

‘Maybe,’ Sigismund tried to say sternly with only one leg in his trousers. She had to appreciate the view as he balanced. ‘Eventually.’ 

‘For now, I’ll ring for tea.’ The looks on their faces confirmed it was a very, very good day. 


End file.
